


heavy weather, colder hands

by monsooned (leovenus)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canon-Typical Character Death, Edelgard-centric, F/M, a crimson flower introspective, offscreen Byleth / Claude, side Dorothea / Petra, there is a happy ending because they deserve it. thank yuo, we can have little a edeleth as a treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:13:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25663414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leovenus/pseuds/monsooned
Summary: “You could have died,” he bit out, pale eyes luminous despite his standing with his back to the lights of their camp. “Lady Edelgard. I beg you. What were you so preoccupied with in that battle?”The anger escaped her as soon as it had come.Guilt, she didn’t say,the third-hand horror of loss.
Relationships: Edelgard von Hresvelg & My Unit | Byleth, Edelgard von Hresvelg/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 10
Kudos: 48





	heavy weather, colder hands

**Author's Note:**

> i have realised in the writing of this that much of the lore of 3h is a little baffling or patchy, so i hope you will forgive me my licence taken. 

It was a dreadfully inky night.

Edelgard leaned back in her chair, blinking away the creases in her vision where candlelight met gloom. For some reason she was still in her regalia - red satin clung to her skin, sticky, as she realised just how long the day had dragged on.

There was no one around to see. She allowed herself to rest her face against a hand, propped up on the table, as she studied the map before her once more.

The Alliance’s neutrality was a farce, she knew. Beneath the veneer of idiocy Claude had always been devastatingly clever, and herself too straightforward. Perhaps that straightforward approach of hers would be the cleanest way to dismantle it - she would figure it out later. She tapped a finger idly against the head of the yellow token placed at Derdriu, before turning her attention west.

The Kingdom was a different set of questions altogether, dotted with a wealth of minor noble families she had never heard of. Although she spent what scant free time she had bringing herself up to speed, reports kept rushing in and taking up her attention. A scout wounded, supply carts burgled, their own troops taking from lands they were only meant to patrol and keep at bay.

And there was the matter of her uncle, a blade carved out of shadow pressed to the small of her back. It was difficult to tread if watched too closely. He was a bloodhound, quick on her heels, and she grew so very weary of dancing in circles around him...

There was a knock at her door, decisive in its announcement, but unhurried. There was only one person it could be.

“You may _not_ enter,” she declared, automatically gathering herself into a posture more befitting her station. _Your bearing reflects that of the Empire, Edelgard. And all our many years of prestigious history. It is a heavy crown. Wear it well._

“And yet I will,” Hubert said, smoothly, materialising out of the space just behind her bookshelf. He granted her the courtesy of a bow as the Warp bled off his silhouette, the acidic smell dissipating into the night air. “Your Majesty.”

The corner of her mouth tugged itself upwards of its own accord. Hubert had a sense of humour as much as anyone else. It was only that she knew where to look that it revealed itself to her so plainly. “I could’ve been undressing, Hubert,” she chastised, without any force to it whatsoever. “Imagine the impropriety of that.”

Hubert tilted his head the barest fraction to acknowledge the remark. “Yes, but you were not,” he pointed out, very mildly. “You have not left this seat since returning from council earlier today. I hear the serving maids took turns knocking at your door seeking a response for the hours our kitchens were open for dinner - to no avail.”

Edelgard blinked, hearing the chastisement that she knew Hubert did not intend. “I hadn’t heard any of that,” she confessed, then felt herself colour in consternation. “I certainly didn’t mean to come across as - unappreciative, of their work.”

Hubert shook his head, and the motion pulled lightly at the join of his neck and chest. Idly her eyes were drawn to the gem that gleamed at the base of his collar, a darker echo of the shade of his eyes. “I had guessed as much, and told them the meal would be sent for if required.”

Of course he had. “Thank you, Hubert,” she said, earnestly. Something about being seated as he stood suddenly felt at odds with her, and she rose, futilely smoothing down the crinkles in her skirts. “I - you are always cleaning up after my failures.” She had not meant to be so vocal with her thoughts.

“It is merely my duty to attend to things that do not require your immediate concern,” he said, the line delivery so smooth she was sure he had said it word for word to her many a time before. Edelgard pursed her lips, feeling something nag at her, tugging in the space behind her sternum on the left side.

“Hubert,” she started, very slowly. The words fought against each other to climb out of her mouth, molasses roiling in a halting pour. “Do you ever - do you.” She paused. “Do you have… any hobbies, or - or things like that?”

It startled her, now that she had asked the question. Perhaps it was the sudden and unwelcome realisation that she had perhaps become overly accustomed to the notion of Hubert simply not existing outside of herself.

She knew many things about him that could be gained from observation and long association - he would eat anything she ate, but drew the line at sweets; he was incredibly fluent with dark magic; he was resourceful, almost to a fault. He showed his emotions so rarely most would hesitate to think he had them. He despised weakness - sometimes in others, and oftentimes in himself.

But try as she might she could not remember a time when she had seen him do something because he _wanted_ to, and not because it was somehow constructive.

His brow furrowed imperceptibly. “Do you mean to allude to my meddling, your Majesty?”

She sighed, and all the strange tension that had wound itself up in the gaps of her lungs escaped at once. “No, Hubert, I meant - ”

\- that they were in the midst of a war she had set herself upon, held on course with nothing but the strength of her conviction. She had never allowed herself to falter. That she had said anything at all was a lapse in judgment, a luxury of squandered time that she couldn’t afford for them both.

Edelgard sombred, ice cold water down the back of her neck. Her earlier languor had left her, replaced by a sharp awareness, the discomfort of reeling back from standing too close to the edge of a precipice she wasn’t prepared to plunge into.

“Perhaps I’m more tired than I had thought,” she said aloud, clearing her throat. “Right as always, Hubert. The day has been long. Could you send for my bath, if it is no trouble?”

If he detected anything odd about her behaviour, Hubert gave none of it away. “Certainly, your Majesty,” he intoned, slinking backward into the shadow. “I will see to it at once.”

☽✧··✦··✧☾

In the mornings things were always clearer. She had decided that in two weeks’ time they would march on Myrddin. Woefully obvious, as could sometimes be her wont, but there was little for it - no other point bridging Alliance and Empire territory could allow an army their size to pass through.

Still, it left her uneasy. The Bridge would doubtless be well defended, and the Alliance had the advantage of both knowing the place and having fresher troops. For this reason she had determined to lead the charge herself - restless, a charge thrumming under her skin, Edelgard headed for the monastery training grounds.

Despite the early hour, she found that she was not alone. A striking pale green head was working through forms in the far end of the grounds, stepping around and feinting at an unseen enemy with the ease of finely honed swordsmanship.

“My teacher,” she greeted, raising her voice so she could be heard while she was still a distance away. “What brings you here so early in the day?”

Byleth followed through on the sweeping motion she had been practicing, then eased out of her stance and turned around as she lowered her sword. “Edelgard,” she responded, resting it against the ground and wiping the sweat of her brow with her free hand. She indicated Edelgard’s attire with a jerk of her head.

“I haven’t seen you dressed down in - a while.”

 _In five years_ , Byleth meant, although she hadn’t lived them. Edelgard disguised the pang of sentimentality that threatened to cut through her with a roll of her shoulder, then spared a tiny smile. “Not enough time to train lately, I’m afraid,” she said. “I thought you could help me out with that.”

Byleth’s eyes widened fractionally, as if only now noticing that she had come bearing an axe. Then she nodded once, short and sharp. “Of course,” she said. “Do you need time to warm up?”

Edelgard shook her head, gripping the axe with both hands as she shifted into position. “There are no warnings in war.”

It earned her a silent gaze of clear approval. Without preamble Byleth launched towards her, blade at the ready. Despite her words Edelgard was very nearly taken off guard; her grip slipped a little as she barely managed to catch the blow with the blade of her axe.

Byleth raised one brow very minutely, disengaging only to rush her the next moment.

In terms of strength she had always been stronger, but Byleth was by far the better combatant. She played to her advantages well, utilising her superior speed so skilfully Edelgard didn’t have the time to be distracted.

But there was something different in their duel - a rashness the professor had never exhibited before Garreg Mach fell, almost impulsive. Her eyes seemed to glow with each clash of iron, like there was something that it could give her.

_Almost like Felix, or Jeritza._

“Edelgard!”

She was jolted out of her brief reverie by the sharp snap of Byleth’s voice at her ear. In her periphery she saw a few ghost-white strands of hair dance on the air, catching sunlight and glinting at her almost mockingly.

“I - sorry,” she managed, when the words would unfurl out of the lump in her throat. “I was - my mind was elsewhere.”

The professor - or she wasn’t, not anymore, but there was a comfort in thinking of her as such - relaxed, nodding in acknowledgment.

“Us both,” she said, perfunctorily. She slotted the iron sword - the very same one she carried around whenever she wasn’t on the battlefield - into its sheath by her side, then quirked a shoulder at Edelgard in invitation. “Fresh air?”

Edelgard nodded, but her mind was caught on what Byleth had said. _Us both?_

They exited the training grounds, walking in silence for a while. She wondered absently where Byleth was heading until they took an eventual left and pulled into view of the greenhouse - and beside it, the fishing pond.

Of course.

Wordlessly they made their way to the dock, coming to its very edge before Byleth unsheathed her sword and set it down, sinking into a sit at the seam of the water. Edelgard took her cue, hesitantly. She had not ever made a habit of idler hobbies in her time at the Academy.

They sat there for some time, in a still quiet. A distance had come over Byleth - not the wall of impassivity she had been when she had first appeared before them in Remire, but something heavier, tinged with what looked like regret.

“Do you think he’ll feel - betrayed?” Byleth asked, all of a sudden. Her voice, clear and steady, cut through the morning air without her making an effort to raise it.

It took Edelgard a while to place the question. “Claude?” She toyed with the idea in her head briefly before letting out a sound that could perhaps most closely be called a snort.

“No, he’s never been the sort to be under illusions about his relationships with people. We were hardly what you would call friends.”

Byleth was strangely silent in response. Edelgard turned to look at her - saw, for once, the tight brow, the downward sweep of her gaze. “You meant by you,” she said aloud, in realisation. She had thought - _something_ , of them, surely, before. It had partly been why she had been so hesitant to show her cards, why the coronation had been a gamble.

Her teacher blinked, suddenly, and the melancholy was gone. “He won’t be at Myrddin, anyway,” she said, decisively. “It won’t matter, not then.”

 _But Derdriu will be after_ , Edelgard didn’t say, busying herself with the handle of her axe, absently making a note to rework the grip soon. She rubbed her thumb over the leather, unused to the sensation of a weapon against her bare hands.

Byleth got up abruptly. “We’ve rested long enough,” she said, holding her hand out to Edelgard. “Come. There is much to do.”

In the sky above them the sun was a yolk peeling open the day. It would hang there, swollen, until it began to drip towards the horizon, coating the land yellow and gold. Edelgard steeled her own resolve, and took hold of Byleth’s hand.

☽✧··✦··✧☾

Myrddin went much quicker than expected. After their commander had fallen the troops had crumpled like a castle of cards, tipping down and backwards into Alliance territory. Edelgard had let them go - there was no honour in striking an escaping enemy.

Afterwards, the Imperial troops made camp. The plan had initially been for the Emperor and her retinue to immediately head back to Garreg Mach, but a mist had settled over Byleth after the battle, and Edelgard, usually so loath to delay, had rescinded the order in favour of staying the night.

“We must ensure the soldiers miss nothing,” she told Hubert vaguely, gesturing at the nearby villages as a general allusion to their behaviour. “See to it that they understand their obligations, and we will ride for the monastery in the morning.”

Hubert did not move immediately, which was a sign that he had questions. She refused to meet his gaze. “Our people are tired, and would do well to rest,” she told him, which was true, even if the battle had been unexpectedly quick, and there was some light left in the day yet.

“Your Majesty,” Hubert said, and in the spaces between its ending syllables it was both a question that bled away into his acceptance of her order.

Edelgard did turn to look at him, then, and took in the blood on his tunic, the dirt on his usually pristine skin. She had made a mistake in that battle, heading in too close too quickly, leaving herself too open. Even now her ears buzzed with the song of Hubert’s spells curling just past her to cleave into the path of a lance, the chest of a heavily armoured soldier heading for her neck.

In the end it had been Jeritza who had taken Judith down, breaking smoothly through the ranks of cavalry and infantry to engage her in a one on one. She had seen the moment when Judith had faltered, her rapier going wide; against someone on horseback with far superior reach it had been her undoing.

“That includes you,” she said softly. “Thank you for today, Hubert.”

A muscle at his temple twitched. It pulled at the skin that sloped down his fine cheekbones, made stark by the smudge against his cheek. She glanced around, then said, “You have something to say.”

He averted his gaze. “If I may, your Majesty,” he said, and waited.

Sometimes it riled her, how he always waited on her permission. _Don’t you have things you just want to say_ , she wanted to ask him, _Isn’t there anything you want for your own?_

She pushed it away - that wild, traitorous thing of a thought, an unbroken steed on its hind legs. It had no place between them. “Proceed.”

Hubert drew himself up to his full height, and she took a step towards him, involuntarily. “You were reckless in that battle,” he stated, almost curt. “Had Jeritza not reached the lady Daphnel -”

Her hand flew up between them, in a halting gesture. Edelgard glanced around them, furtively, but nobody was listening, the entire army accustomed already to the hushed discussions of Emperor and advisor.

“I am _aware_ ,” she hissed, feeling - not an insult to her pride, like she had anticipated - but a warmth in her cheeks like embarrassment. “You need not tell me.”

When she looked at him something shifted in his gaze. Hubert’s hand came up to hers, gloved thumb on gloved pulse, applying the faintest hint of pressure. She allowed it to drop instantly back to her side - if only because he never acted out of turn.

“Hubert -” she started, warning. The danger bled into her tone without intent - she hadn’t had time to think it before it ballooned out.

“You could have died,” he bit out, pale eyes luminous despite his standing with his back to the lights of their camp. “Lady Edelgard. I beg you. What were you so preoccupied with in that battle?”

The anger escaped her as soon as it had come. _Guilt_ , she didn’t say, _the third-hand horror of loss_. “That’s what I have you for,” she countered, petulant. “I can’t very well be expected to watch my own back all the time.”

He was right, as always. She had known it even as she sailed through the throng on the Bridge, Aymr glowing as it sought out blood that she made sure it would take. But that strange buzzing under her skin felt louder than ever, now, and it made her stand her ground even as his gaze swept over her face, searching. After a moment Hubert stepped away.

“Of course, your Majesty,” he murmured, the disappointment clear on his face, seeping through his voice as he brought his hand to his heart and bowed deeply - the full ninety degrees. “I overstepped. You have my sincerest apologies.”

She saw it because he allowed her to, she knew. Her crown - crafted of lightweight mythril by the finest blacksmiths in the Empire - weighed heavy against her skull. She hefted Aymr against her shoulder, and moved back towards the Bridge.

☽✧··✦··✧☾

“Hey, Edie. Do you think the Professor’s okay?”

Edelgard glanced up at the silhouette at the door to her chambers, Dorothea’s distinctive form resting hesitantly against the doorway. She glanced down at her parchment ( _we would seek your assistance your assistance some troops_ ) - crossed out the spare words hastily, then crumpled it up in exasperation. As she rose towards the door she cast it into the fireplace.

“Dorothea,” she greeted, warm. “Please, take a seat. I will make us tea.”

Dorothea blanched, moving to meet her, gently taking hold of her wrists. “Please, I couldn’t, Edie,” she said, aghast. “I shouldn’t have come at all - it’s just - the Professor has seemed so off, recently, and I was wondering what it could be, and then I walked past your room and I thought, of any one of us it would be you who would have an answer…”

It made her smile, how conscious of others Dorothea was, how dearly she cared for those around her. Edelgard turned their hands around, loosely linking them together. “I was growing weary of missives for company,” she jested, trying to coax a smile onto her friend’s face. “Come, let us have tea. You are far fairer than any who have graced me today.”

The worry slowly eased out of Dorothea’s lovely face, replaced by a coy smile. “Oh, you know how to flatter a girl, Edie,” she tittered, her laughter clear notes in a forest clearing. “You have a kettle in here, don’t you? Come, at least let me help.”

"It's not often I'm doted upon," Edelgard joked wrily, as she allowed Dorothea to set the kettle to boil. From a cupboard she pulled out her own tea set - a fine work of porcelain, gifted to her many years prior by a visiting merchant family. It was a pale lilac, inlaid with gold, white flowers delicately casting themselves across the body. On the inside hand-painted roses adorned the smooth glaze, dipping their leaves into the pool when the cup was filled.

 _An echo of the Princess's own unmatched beauty_ , the merchant had said, eyes trained on the base of the throne. Her father had agreed well enough. She merely liked the size of the cups.

Dorothea tutted, turning backwards to face her, a hand resting on one shapely hip. "What about Hubie?" she asked, raising a brow. " _He_ certainly dotes on you well enough. The other day - when you went out riding alone without telling anyone - he looked as if he was going to be sick with worry, Edie. I didn't know a person could go that pale!"

Edelgard's hands stilled, and she set the tin of bergamot tea down on the table before her. “Hubert,” she said, carefully. “Is duty bound to further my cause, and nothing more.”

Dorothea saw it, anyway, and as the kettle screeched to a boil she took it off the fire before tending to the pot. “You two fought, didn’t you,” she stated, knowingly.

“I’m not sure you can call it that,” Edelgard grimaced, turning the sand timer over to allow the tea to steep as she gestured for Dorothea to take a seat opposite her. “Sometimes I just feel like…” The words felt almost treasonous in her mouth. She nearly laughed at the thought.

“I don’t know him at all,” she said, plainly, and at the tick of the timer she hastened to pour the tea before Dorothea could beat her to it. “The part of him that isn’t bound in service to me, I mean.” Pause. “When he does say something - you might be surprised, but sometimes I cannot fathom what it is he wants.”

Dorothea looked like she had something to say about that, but she twisted her mouth shut, falling pensive. Edelgard set the tea pot down, and placed Dorothea’s cup before her gently. “But enough of that - we came to talk about the Professor. I noticed, as well.” It had been part of her own distraction, she didn’t add.

“Forgive me if I’m speaking out of turn,” Dorothea started, staring into the depths of her cup as if it might yield an answer. Her earlier levity had fled. She wore sorrow beautifully, Edelgard noted, had always been meant for the stage, not a battlefield.

“But I think - to cut down those who had been our friends, and the allies of someone important to her… she’ll do it, of course she will - ” Dorothea hastened to add, looking briefly - afraid? - as she did. “But it’s difficult for her, and I’m worried about… after.”

Leonie had died in that battle, as had Ignatz. But she knew without a doubt that Dorothea was referring to Judith, who by many accounts was a card kept close to Claude’s chest. Who was another bitter casualty, now, even if the empty spot where she had lain suggested that she had, at least, received a proper burial.

If Jeritza had not been there - would she have yielded?

Did it matter?

“The Professor is not one to be too swayed by personal sentiment,” Edelgard said, slowly. “Even if I am aware that she and Claude were - close. Perhaps more so than she was aware of, at the time.”

She did not have space for regret in the path she had chosen. It did not mean Edelgard was not painfully alive to each cost engendered by her decisions. She took surrenders gracefully when she could; there was far too much blood on her hands for her to seek any more.

“I will leave the choice to her. Perhaps she will achieve a better outcome,” she thought out loud, because in many ways the Professor was her more restrained half, her calculated sword where Hubert was her shield.

“Thank you, Dorothea,” she said at length, searching out her gaze and sharing a tiny smile. Dorothea returned it, and then their conversation turned, fortuitously, to lighter things.

☽✧··✦··✧☾

She had hoped to speak with Byleth about each of their reservations. The five years their campaign had raged on had - admittedly, in hindsight - lacked tact, driven as Edelgard was by the need for haste and as little fuss as possible. If it hadn’t been for Those Who Slither in the Dark, surely there could have been a simpler way.

If it hadn’t been for Those Who Slither in the Dark, she would not have borne the scars she did. She wondered if, in another timeline, the Professor would have come to end her, to stopper the chaos she had embroiled herself in with her tainted blood.

She tried not to indulge the thought. As it was she must soldier on.

But she could find Byleth nowhere in the monastery, no matter how hard she looked, or who she asked. There was no pale green head of hair in the training arena, only Felix sparring against Petra with a grim determination as Sylvain and Caspar watched on. In the library she found Linhardt slumbering on a tome of saintly legends; in the gazebo Ferdinand was poring over land records.

She ran into Lysithea in the dining hall, when morning had given way to the rising swelter of noon and she was beginning to tire of her search. The younger girl startled when she saw her, as if a ghost, but marched up to where Edelgard sat alone with her tray, nonetheless.

"Edelgard," she said, in her characteristic no-nonsense voice. "May I join you for this meal?"

Edelgard eyed the only Alliance member from their year to have joined her with some curiosity. Though others - most notably Lorenz - had allied with their cause through their Houses, that was the mere product of a choice made in a war. Lysithea‘s interests seemed far more personal. "Of course."

Lysithea nodded, as if to herself, then slid into the seat opposite her. When their eyes met Edelgard felt a shiver of unease go through her - not because of Lysithea herself, but because the swan-feather white of her hair was like a mirror of things she wished she could forget.

They ate in a stilted silence for a while before Edelgard said, tentatively, “You wished to speak about something.”

Lysithea’s eyes widened as she sputtered on her next mouthful of food, caught by genuine surprise. Mildly alarmed Edelgard placed a steadying hand on her shoulder and offered her a cup of water, which she took grateful sips of after her coughing had subsided.

Clearly embarrassed by the ordeal, her face was rosy when she spoke. “Yes - well - no, but…” She ducked her head, then sighed. “Yes. It’s about Claude.”

As it would be. Edelgard nodded to show she was listening, then took another bite of her vegetable pasta salad. She allowed herself to briefly entertain a puerile irritation. _More popular than me even in my own camp, huh._ She snorted. _Typical._

Lysithea glanced up warily at the noise she made, but Edelgard waved her on. She nodded, clearly gathering her conviction before she spoke. “Claude is a good man,” she declared, placing both of her small hands on the table and looking Edelgard very firmly in the eye. “You probably wondered why I was the only one from our house to - to join you when you left, even when it was clear the Alliance would not immediately be implicated in this war.”

She had, indeed. Edelgard bobbed her head in affirmation.

“That was all Claude,” she said, sounding a bit wistful. Her eyes dropped to the table as they were, Lysithea missed the surprise that flitted over Edelgard’s features. “He - he told me that he wouldn’t make me join them, not when the Empire might have a cure for - my - for me, a leader sympathetic to my plight.”

“He knew?” Edelgard breathed. “About me?”

Lysithea tugged at her hair, quirking one side of her mouth wrily as her gaze met Edelgard’s. “Well. He figured me out, after a while. At first he just thought I was weak because of my age - even made fun of me for it. Then he’d catch me in a bout of illness, and one too many times later made the link to why I was so desperate not to waste any time.”

“He thought I was just very sick with some type of disease, and kept offering to send for the best healers in Derdriu. Told me not to be too proud to receive help - ha! Eventually I snapped and told him it couldn’t be cured. And then of course I felt like I owed it to him to tell him part of why.”

She paused, bringing her hands together and staring at them. “He read a lot about Crests, you know. Was kinda obsessed with them. But he looked so horrified when he heard.” She shook herself out of a memory. “If only he knew the process itself.”

Then she looked up at Edelgard. “I don’t think he was completely certain, about you, but he hears a lot of stuff, and there aren’t any people in Fodlan with naturally occurring white hair. And he might’ve noticed things - like if you don’t seem to bear wounds you were seen taking while in battle.” Lysithea paused to consolidate her thoughts. “Once he knew about me - it was only natural he would guess about you.”

Something moved Edelgard to lay her hand on Lysithea’s. “Thank you for letting me know,” she murmured. The feeling of being left behind by time that was slipping further and further out of reach - she knew it well.

And although she was again Lysithea’s mirror image, physically strong where the other had a body that poisoned her from within, she too had been informed by the mages that her life would truncate abruptly someday. The Crests would burn through her with the toll of her augmented strength until there was nothing left, and she might not even have the courtesy of a warning.

She smiled grimly to herself at the reminder, hand flying to her sleeve to absently trace the line of a hidden scar. “It has been good to speak with you,” she told Lysithea, sincerely. “I will think on what you have said.”

☽✧··✦··✧☾

As she had promised, so had she done. Edelgard stood on the Bridge of Myrddin, staring out onto the port city. She had a vase back in her bedroom in Enbarr, said to be brought to Fodlan from distant lands through this very port. It was exquisite, as were the flowers the palace maids were tasked to fill it with. It was only a pity beautiful things died so easily.

Byleth was silent by her side, observing the city streets. It was the first Edelgard had seen her since Myrddin. Beside her, her pegasus snorted gently and pawed at the ground.

“My teacher,” Edelgard said in a low voice, stepping closer to her. “We will engage the rest of them on land. I will leave Claude to you, if - that is - you are willing.”

Byleth’s head whipped around to face her, eyes growing large with dread. “You do not mean -“

“If he will surrender,” Edelgard said, very quietly, “I have nothing to gain from his death.”

It was as close to a display of sentimentality as she could be seen to have. Something shifted in Byleth’s gaze - a weariness glinting gold like conviction - and Edelgard tucked it away as she turned to address their army.

“Today we ride on the capital,” Edelgard declared. “Do not harm citizens. Their commander is a shrewd tactician; watch your sides, and watch the skies.” With her left hand, regal, gloved, she indicated Byleth.

“The Professor’s aerial battalion will engage with him in his floating stronghold directly. Your task is to push their forces out of the city. Archers, provide the Professor with support. We aim to end this swiftly and decisively.”

She paused. “Take your positions. We fight for the Empire. To glory!”

An answering roar came up from the assembled army. She hated the phrase - glory had nothing to do with it - but it disguised her aims, and boosted morale. Its bland simplicity was Hubert’s creation.

And speaking of him - he was there, by her side, impassive, imposing. She glanced up at him, reflexively. He didn’t look back.

Edelgard pursed her lips. There was no time to spend on frivolous pondering; there was a battle to be won.

·✧·

Byleth found her by the fire, later, as she cleaned her armour by its light. The ritual of oil and metal allowed her to clear her head, work out the tension of a battle.

“My teacher,” she murmured, as Byleth took a seat next to her on the log. It was cooler, outside, away from the merriment inside their tents on the city outskirts. Aymr rested easily within her reach. The rag was coarse against her hands. “You were gone a while.”

Byleth maintained her silence for a while, shifting closer to her. Very jerkily, almost like a doll, she brought her legs up to her chest, resting her head on her chin. Like this she looked dreadfully childlike, so lost and small.

“I suppose I was,” she replied after a while. The flames, reflected in her pale eyes, grew larger, seductive in their dance. “We - we had a lot to talk about.”

There was no need to cast any further ambiguity on what they were - it was written plain on Byleth’s face.

“You’re in love with him,” Edelgard stated plainly, dropping her head to rest it on the back of a hand, unconcerned by the oil she knew had found its way to her cheek.

Byleth whipped around to face her. For a moment it looked as if she was about to protest - but just as quickly it faded, leaving behind a wistfulness that was almost unbearable to witness.

“Perhaps,” Byleth agreed, turning her gaze back to the fire. “It was not so long ago, for me.”

Edelgard hummed in understanding. “He has gone back?”

A slow nod. “Not half an hour ago.”

She, too, turned her gaze to the embers she had taken her moniker from. _That you may burn even the gods._

No, they had been wrong. It seemed the one who was scorched most direly was herself.

“You have my sincerest apologies,” she voiced, taking stone by stepping stone across rapids. “But I must be selfish and ask you to remain with us a while longer.”

“Edelgard,” Byleth breathed, clearly surprised. “I would not leave. Desert.”

“This war will not last forever,” she countered. “He must have told you where he was going.”

Byleth coloured, gaze softening. “He did.”

Edelgard turned her attention back to her task, watching as the burnished metal slowly peered out of the grime under her ministrations. “You could allow yourself to consider the future,” she said very softly. “It is, after all, the point of this campaign.”

_If not for yourself, then let me beg it of you. That all of this may mean something._

The night stretched between them, languid, honey-slow. “What about you, Edelgard?” Byleth asked, guileless, impossibly light for once. “What do you see in yours?”

 _Two, three years more. Maybe five if I’m lucky_ , she thought, honestly. She would lay the groundwork. Build a cabinet of personnel who could be trusted to bring her dreams to fruition. If she was especially fortunate, she might travel once or twice. She had never seen Brigid.

“Work,” she deflected, and was rewarded with a huff of laughter.

☽✧··✦··✧☾

The battles rolled on, waves upon crashing waves. They defended Garreg Mach against the Church’s ambush. Edelgard did not bother to disguise the relief she had felt when Caspar reported that Seteth had been sighted taking Flayn and leaving.

She bore no ill will against them. Her fight was with Rhea - _Seiros_ , and Seiros alone. Seteth had been kind to her when she was a student, Flayn nothing but sweet. And she had heard enough to know Seteth often disagreed with Rhea’s methods, but complied out of loyalty to their shared heritage.

Ladislava and Randolph, however. Unbidden, a pain arced through her chest, twisting through her ribs and tasting like the pungent aftershock of a Thunder. She would not falter any longer. For their sakes.

Over the horizon, the monastery pulled into view. Edelgard rode on with a grim determination, satisfied at having taken Cornelia’s - that thorn in her side’s - head. And Arianrhod was theirs; from there it would be quicker to carve straight into the rot at Fhirdiad.

Her grip tightened involuntarily on her reins as they rode in through the front gates. They were already open, which meant that someone else with a standing authorisation had made their way in only recently.

As to who it was -

\- “Edelgard.” A silky smile stretched open to welcome her. “My favourite niece. It is such a delight to see you.”

She took her time dismounting, allowing her disgust to show only when her face was turned away from the man. A stablehand came to lead away her horse; Bernadetta, a short distance away, seemed to falter in her spot, like she had sensed her apprehension and wanted to provide Edelgard with moral support in Hubert’s absence, but was too afraid to.

Eyes not straying from Arundel, Edelgard shook her head at the girl very minutely. She would handle him, and she would handle him alone. Beside her she was aware of Byleth instructing their inner circle to convene in the Cardinal’s room in an hour for a debrief.

They spoke in the entrance hall. “What brings you here, Uncle?”

Arundel’s eyes - that eerie, spellcast blue that seemed to glow in the shadow - fixed onto her, a hawk eyeing a mouse in the grass. “I concluded my business in what was the Alliance territory,” he began, taking one step towards her. “And I heard that Arianrhod was taken masterfully. With brilliant aplomb. By none other than my niece, who even deceived some of her allies.”

Behind the mask that had clicked instantly into place at the sight of his silhouette Edelgard reeled, in both disgust and fear. She bowed deeply. “I am honoured to have earned your praise. But I intended no deception, dear Uncle; it was merely a precaution. Our suspicions were that Church rats hid amongst our ranks.”

She peered out from under her lashes, waiting. “That they ambushed us not last moon was a matter of alarm for us all. You understand, I am sure.”

“Of course, of course,” Arundel murmured. He began slowly to walk a circle around her. “But now she is gone, though she was not one of theirs. Such a terrible waste, wouldn’t you agree?”

“An unfortunate accident of circumstance,” Edelgard lied, although she had seen to it personally that Jeritza cut Cornelia down, even before they had truly engaged with the Kingdom personnel. “She manipulated these great dolls with magic. They struck down many of our own with ease - tell me, Uncle, did you know of them?”

He smiled thinly at her, and did not answer her question. “Would that you had maintained such a valuable ally, child,” he chastised. “If you are only able to act so imprudently, I fear the Empire will never grow beyond this shadow that hangs over it.”

It was a threat. Edelgard took it with grace, dipping her head elegantly. “I thank you for your concern, but it is my task as Emperor to cast aside any darkness that rests in our way.” _And you will be the first_ , she did not add.

“How touching,” Arundel purred. “It is only my sincerest prayer that the Empire does not become another Arianrhod.”

The buzzing in her ears screamed to a fever pitch. She spun around on her heel to demand what it was he meant -

But he was gone, the acrid smell of his magic lingering in the aftermath. Behind her she heard the edges of dimension peel open as a much more familiar figure stepped into the space behind her.

“Your Majesty.” Hubert’s bow was sloppy, almost urgent. He had traveled with a later troop. “A messenger. Arianrhod has been decimated by spears of light from the sky. All of House Rowe is gone. A third of the soldiers we had left behind are unaccounted for.” A pause. “The Silver Maiden has fallen to ruin.”

 _Another Arianrhod._ Edelgard squeezed her eyes shut and let out a shriek of frustration, hand coming out to slam into a pillar beside her. The stone groaned as it cracked; Hubert took a step towards her, uncertain. “Lady Edelgard -”

Dimly, she was aware of a dull throbbing pain in her left hand, the sensation of liquid soaking through her armoured gloves. Edelgard held it to her chest as she cursed aloud. “This is Arundel’s doing,” she hissed. “They would make us pay for disposing of Cornelia.”

“Lady Edelgard.” Gently, her wounded hand was tugged away from her. “Was he just here, then?”

She was exhausted. If later asked, it was the bone-deep weariness she would credit with why she allowed Hubert to slowly peel off her glove in the Entrance Hall, running an assessing eye over the damage as if they hadn’t been waging a cold war of their own since Myrddin. “Yes.” She tried not to sound as helpless as she felt.

“Perhaps we had acted with haste,” he murmured, even as he held a hand over hers - and a warmth bled into her skin, the unmistakable glow of healing magic soothing the pain, stemming the superficial flow of blood. She tried to catch his eye, but Hubert’s gaze was fixed firmly downward, brow furrowed.

“No,” she replied, distractedly. “If we will be fighting them it can only help us to remove their thorns now.” She changed the topic. “But Hubert - when did you learn…”

Hubert removed his hands, pressing hers back at her. “I have received some tutelage from Linhardt,” he said, “As we can have no excess of healers. But it would still be best to get that looked at by an actual practitioner.” Brisk, businesslike. Underneath that, an undercurrent like shame.

Her hand was warm still, tingling from the touch. “Of course. I - ” She really was tired. She didn’t know what she had been going to say with that sentence. “Thank you, Hubert. I fear I would be quite at a loss without you.” _Sorry. Thank you. Please don’t go._

His visible eyebrow twitched. Then he allowed her his proper smile, the one that he reserved for very rare occasions, distinct only by the faintest curl of his lips upwards at the corners. “Not at all, my lady. You should get some rest. I will finish up here.”

His gaze shifted to the pillar, cracks marring its surface, and then back to hers, bowing once before he took his leave. Edelgard watched him go, feeling some of the tension of the past few weeks settle, then made her own way to her chambers, a repurposed room in the faculty accommodation building.

That night, she dreamed of death and destruction, and of a child with brown hair and vivid lilac eyes screaming until her throat was bloody from the pain.

☽✧··✦··✧☾

Edelgard had learned not to regret what she couldn’t change.

And so she knew it was not regret that burned through her now, rendered her deathly still in her room as the sun rapidly set on another day. The light changed. She stayed the same.

 _To the flames of eternity with you,_ he had cursed her; _El_ , he had said. Perhaps she had forgotten, but now everyone who had ever called her that was well and truly gone.

A knock at her door, and then it opened, and Hubert made his way in, setting a tray of food on the table. Simple fare, no less due to the necessities of the war than it was because her younger self had often expressed a liking for rice porridge and soup when she was below the weather.

On a logical level she appreciated the gesture. But in her current state no emotion was processed, not even as he took a look at her and fetched a throw that he placed carefully on her shoulders, tucking it around her to ward off the creeping chill of night.

“Lady Edelgard. Please try to eat something,” he said, at length, then turned to take his leave.

“Hubert, wait.” Her voice was hoarse. She couldn’t remember what she had been doing with it for it to sound like that. “You…” She felt like she was wading in mud, feet heavy and sinking inside a swamp. “You don’t have to leave.”

It was as strange an order as he had ever received from her; it wasn’t one, but to name it would be to lose her precarious footing, her head going under. She waited, treading water, as he returned, and after a moment’s indecision proceeded to her bookshelf to peruse its selection. As time dragged on the room grew gloomier still; Hubert clicked his fingers and the fireplace danced to life.

The sound of crackling wood roused Edelgard enough that she began picking at her food. Eventually Hubert selected a volume from one of the lower shelves and placed himself in an armchair diagonal to her, starting to read as she ate.

Again she turned Dimitri’s words over in her head. He had his wish, perhaps, insofar as she was already there. But he had no longer been who she imagined she must have known, once, and if she reached deep enough, she thought she might at least be able to remember him as something more than a wretched creature who clung to his resentment of her until death.

Surely he deserved that much. It horrified her to think that it was guesswork; that she did not really know. How many others would she fail in the same way, would bear part of her cross for what the dark had done?

“Reading.”

She snapped out of her reverie, blinking owlishly at the figure a small distance away. He was backlit by the fire; she took in their surroundings again before asking, confused, “What?”

Hubert glanced up at her. His visible eye gleamed with firelight. “You asked me, once, if I had any hobbies.” He held up the tome by way of illustration. _Tales from the Far Beyond._ “I suppose reading is the closest it comes.”

Oh. She had, indeed. Several battles ago, and before their first proper fight. Edelgard could only guess at why Hubert would bring it up so suddenly, and yet.

“Why?”

He slid the ribbon between the pages and shut the book, setting it down on the sidetable. Then he leaned back into the chair as he spoke, folding together neatly like a well-assembled doll. “It’s a convenient pastime,” he started. “There is a lot of wisdom to be gleaned. And -” Here Hubert paused imperceptibly. “- and it can be done to keep you company with your ghosts.”

Edelgard did smile, wanly, despite herself. Hubert very rarely offered condolences, and never if the death was by her own hand. But he would sit with her as she wrestled; the cold porridge went down a little bit easier.

“Why that one?” she asked, interest piqued, indicating the volume with her head.

Her shelves were stocked entirely with treatises and histories of Fodlan, with a few references from further lands. Her only memory of the nondescript green tome was an echo of a nanny’s voice - mere old wives’ tales, if she recalled, conjurations of whim and fantasy. It was strange that it had survived her childhood, and stranger still that it had been packed and brought over to the monastery by her staff.

Hubert ducked his head, shrouding his own face in shadow. He was silent for so long she thought to change the subject to avoid the unbearable stillness, and was about to when he spoke.

“I always wanted to know what you were reading,” Hubert confessed, so softly she was sure if she breathed too loudly he would startle.

Steadfastly avoiding her gaze he reached for the book and turned it over in his hands, his pale skin bright against the dyed leather. His voice was low, like banked flames in an untended hearth. “Maybe you don’t remember, but - it was your favourite.”

Edelgard’s jaw slackened with surprise, hands tightening in the cloth around her shoulders. In her mind’s eye she saw herself in her childhood room, that magnificent four-poster bed with a canopy of the finest silks, clutching a beloved plush toy.

She didn’t know that girl, not well, but she had been known to have a shadow, hadn’t she? One who had watched over her, cloaked under the cover of eaves, whose life had been stitched to hers before they had been unceremoniously rent apart?

“Hubert,” she began, licking her lips hesitantly. She caught his eye in the glow of the flames. “Would you - would you read it to me?"

He straightened immediately, peeling its cover open and running the pad of a finger down the contents page. His earlier restlessness was gone, comfortable again as he was in his role as her vassal.

“For you, my lady,” he intoned, more gently than the stiff formality of his language would reveal, “It would be my pleasure.”

☽✧··✦··✧☾

The days pressed on. Soon they stood at Fhirdiad, ready to march against the last vestiges of the Church.

It seemed a mockery to her, that the Church would be holding on so tightly to the disemboweled core of the Kingdom when Dimitri had fallen. But Seiros herself had a penchant for doing that, didn’t she, taking hold of things that weren’t hers.

Byleth stood with her, surveying the city from their vantage point. “She will have my answers,” she stated, tonelessly, in her mind’s eye a saint with lilies in her hair.

“I am sorry I do not know more,” Edelgard told her, their arms brushing together. Byleth took a hold of her hand and squeezed.

“Whatever Rhea did to me is not your yoke to bear,” Byleth muttered, gaze flinty. “My heart does not beat. Sothis resides within me. My father lived a long time, and his adoration of her turned to fear.” Their eyes met.

“Even Seteth feared her, I think. So many of the church’s machinations - perhaps they are no more than her own.”

The avarice that had shone in her eyes when Byleth had climbed the steps in the Holy Tomb… Edelgard gripped Byleth’s hand back, then let go. “It ends today,” she promised, solemnly.

Byleth nodded back, purpose grim in the set of her jaw. “We will see to it.”

·✧·

It was easier said than done, when Rhea lit the city ablaze and they lost cavalry and infantry both in the ensuing chaos. They made do, switching tack for soldiers to fight on foot, covered by their mages from the back. Byleth had again chosen to fly this battle, fortuitously; her battalion watched from the skies, pegasi and wyverns alike soaring high to escape the lick of the flames.

Dimitri’s city, and she had gutted it so thoroughly it was little more than a corpse rotting in the sun. Edelgard bit down on the rage that threatened to consume her and lashed out, another soldier crumpling to the ground before her. _Was it worth it?_ she thought, almost viciously as she stepped over his body. _Is this what your goddess wants?_

In the corner of her eye there was a flash. She saw the gleam of a blade - a darting shadow - and then the Church soldier fell noiselessly to the ground, dark magic licking at his skin like a warning.

There was nobody whose casting she knew so intimately. She turned to nod at Hubert - except he wasn’t there when she looked, and it was with a dawning horror that she turned her gaze downwards - and he _was there_ , right by her side, as he tended to be, except he was curled up, braced against the heated ground, and it was blood, wasn’t it, that thing pooling around his knees?

She sank to her own, taking hold of him. He put up no resistance, a rag doll in her hands, and as she desperately gripped at him in some vain effort to stem the flow of blood she whipped her head around wildly, commanding the attention of the nearest mage.

"Send for Mercedes," she instructed tightly. She tried not to look down at the man in her hands. “Tell her to bring someone else.” Her eyes must have been wild; the soldier looked frightened as he raised his hands to cast, Warping away to the back of their lines.

"C-come now," Hubert murmured, his hand brushing the side of her neck as his head lolled against her shoulder and she drew in shuddering breaths. "It is un... becoming of the Emperor, to weep so." Gloves. She tried to lean into the touch. She told herself she couldn’t feel the heat of his hands because of those gloves.

Weep? She didn’t know what he was talking about. His voice, save the breaks in speech, was as smooth as it always was. Edelgard shook, pressing her hand to his abdomen, covering his with her own. His blood was indistinguishable from the red she wore.

"Mercedes,” she mumbled, almost a prayer. “For the love of - _please_. _"_ Was her hand trembling? It must have been rage. “Hubert. You stupid _fucking_ bastard.” Shakily she located a concoction, tipping it to his grey lips urgently.

He allowed her to feed it to him, then managed to grin, somehow. Near them she was dimly aware of the sound of Petra and Caspar rallying to cut down troops who would circle too close, herself a deadweight, unwilling to move. The effort of it creased his brow and he started to cough wetly; it was all she could do to hold on through the tremors.

 _A fuller offensive. Linhardt is leading his own contingent on the east side. He should’ve been with us._ Her pulse raced in her ears as she tracked the battlefield and gently jogged his head, trying to keep him conscious. The tactic made _sense_ , knowing the Church would not yield or see reason, but she was looking at its cost now, and it was terrifying, to be reminded of how helpless she was to help or heal those she held close.

Reality cleaved open next to them, and Mercedes appeared with her brother in tow, her hand already glowing. Jeritza's own steed seemed impervious to the flames. Edelgard was dimly aware of him assisting Petra and Caspar as Mercedes bent to Hubert, her head bowed in supplication as she worked.

He had fallen unconscious as she did, but Mercedes assured her that it was no worry. Surreptitiously Edelgard checked and found that he was breathing, shallow but less fitfully than before.

“Emile,” Mercedes called, softly, and her brother reappeared in an instant, nodding at Edelgard as he took Hubert. “We will see to him,” she promised, in that same comforting way she always had, and then there was the sting of sulfur, again, as the three of them vanished.

Panic quelled, Edelgard blinked furiously, gripping Aymr in hand as she rose. She looked skywards, and located Byleth, a silhouette of white wings and rage. They would cut the rot out at its source; they had dawdled long enough.

·✧·

_Twice in the same battle_ , she thought dully to herself, gripping Byleth’s unmoving body as the Immaculate One collapsed with a shriek and was no more. It seemed loss was a spiteful creature that grew unchecked, knew her by name. It sank its claws into her, murmured kisses into her neck, and lapped at her blood like she was nothing more than a lamb to the slaughter.

With their paragon felled the Church would doubtless give way; she allowed herself, now, to sob openly, unable to bear the sight of Byleth so still, the dark teal of her head, that unfathomable feeling of loss. The Sword of Creator - once unearthly in its pulsating power - no longer glowed.

She had felt something leave her too, when Seiros fell. But for now she knew only that it was not what Byleth had lost - and those who loved her, to whom she had made promises. She thought of Claude - Edelgard would have to tell him, too, and if it made an enemy of him she would only have herself to blame -

A thud.

It was faint, but she was certain she felt it. Afraid to hope she opened her eyes. Through the fog of her vision - blinked away, rubbed hastily against a torn sleeve, her heart leapt to find Byleth looking back, eyes blue as they ever were, even as no colour graced her complexion.

“Byleth,” she murmured, “My teacher.”

The relic clanged to the floor. Tender, tender, a hand reached out for her, cradling her face, thumbing away a tear.

“El,” Byleth, newly mortal, said softly. “You did well.”

☽✧··✦··✧☾

"Incredible," Linhardt murmured, seizing her arm and turning it to and fro under the lens of the Crest Analyzer as if changing the angle would reveal something he had missed. "I've never - are you _certain_ you had two?"

Edelgard fixed him with a long-suffering stare. "It is the Crest of Seiros that is tied to the blood of House Hresvelg. Yet you see only the Crest of Flames remains."

To his utmost credit, her companion did not so much as flinch under her heavy regard. "As I am well aware, yes," he muttered. "And you felt this when Rhea - Seiros died, yes? The same time the Professor died and then came back - came back! - to life. But the Crest of the Goddess herself is the Crest of Flames, and it is that very one that has been lost to history…"

"This is a guess, but the Professor probably still has the Crest," Edelgard muttered, allowing him to fiddle with the settings of the device in Hanneman's study despite herself. "From how she tells it, her heart was a Crest Stone. It broke when we turned the power of the Sword against the Immaculate One, but…"

"But Crests are carried in the blood, and she is clearly still alive," Linhardt completed for her, humming with interest. "I see, I see. And yet one of your own is missing. Oh, but this is most fascinating. Would you mind if I took a sample of your blood?" He seemed temporarily remorseful. "If only we had a prior record to benchmark against…"

She huffed softly in amusement at the sight of Linhardt, so alive with interest. "If you had ever looked like this during our Academy days, I would've forgiven your inattentiveness in lecture," she remarked, crossing her arms.

"If we had been making _breakthroughs_ in _Crest research_ during our Academy days, I would have made _Annette_ look lazy," Linhardt shot back. They shared a laugh, but it died quickly, and in its place a heavy sombreness descended upon them.

"...I guess she'll never get to learn what that's like, huh." Linhardt pushed a finger into the surface of his desk, watching the way his skin turned white with the pressure, released to flood pink again.

Not for the first time she bore the weight of what the battlefield had cost so many of them. Edelgard shook her head slowly, holding ghosts at bay. "No, she won't."

"We must make our peace with it," Linhardt said quietly, his hands coming to still over the tools he had brought out. "If we believe what we do is for the future of Fodlan…"

"Then we have already accepted the cost," she nodded, and in that there was a silent agreement between them to tarry on the point no more.

"Here. Take my blood, and let me know what you find. But this must not leave our closest circle." She arched an eyebrow, trusting he understood what she meant. "I will let the Professor know to see you when she is feeling better."

Brought out of reverie, Linhardt's own placid features sharpened briefly - an echo of his own disgust at what had been done to her and Lysithea both. "Of course."

He spoke with her as he cleaned and prepared the tools, lulling her into a retelling of recent gossip around their camp. Edelgard found herself mid-description of how Hubert had taken to wearing a pink crocheted flower brooch made for him by Bernadetta when he leaned back, wiping her arm clean with a warm cloth, a satisfied curl to his lip. "Done."

At her surprise, Linhardt laughed a little. "You know, Edelgard, it's nice to see you smile," he said, warmly. He propped a hand up on the desk and leaned his face into it, examining her. "I wasn't sure if you were capable of that anymore."

Always straight to the point, this one. There was something about the unflappable ease with which he habitually navigated situations. It deserved its own brand of respect.

Edelgard mulled over it before she spoke. In all honesty, she hadn't been aware she'd been smiling, and wasn't keen on picking apart why. At last she settled on an answer that she felt was true enough. "Maybe I wasn't, for a while."

"I'm glad it returned to you, then," Linhardt told her, very sincerely. As she rose to go he did a little jog around the desk to press something wrapped in a sheet of muslin into her hand. "Wait. Here."

Automatically she closed her fingers around the item, something round and soft. Curiously she peeled it open to find a sweet bun, baked to perfection.

"Fresh from Mercedes's hands just this morning," he informed her, not a little proudly. "Eat it. You'll need energy after having your blood drawn."

Then he held up a hand in a mock oath, falling comically solemn. "Promise I won't tell Hubert if you don’t."

She folded the square neatly back together, and smiled genuinely at him, feeling the lightest that she had been in a while. "Thank you, Linhardt," she said. "I'll hold you to it."

·✧·

She located Byleth not in the infirmary, nor in her room, nor even fishing on the dock. The good ex-professor was sitting in the pavilion, head bowed over a game of chess with none other than her own retainer.

She passed on the message she had promised Linhardt, and nodded stiffly at Hubert. "Professor, Hubert," she said, or meant to say, except some of her confusion leaked through, and her perfunctory greeting ended up as a question.

"Checkmate," Hubert said, clacking a piece into place, and Byleth flopped backwards dramatically in her chair, a wry twist to her mouth.

"That's five for five," she announced, not seeming bothered at all. "It seems I have a lot to learn yet."

"The battlefield is far more admirable a thing to read than a game in which the pieces always behave," Hubert demurred, then stood, bowing briefly to her. "Excuse us for a moment."

Byleth waved him off easily, her gaze meeting Edelgard’s briefly before she turned her attention to their chessboard, analysing the pieces to figure out where she had gone wrong.

“Lady Edelgard,” he said, when they had woven themselves into a corner constructed by hedges, doubtless used by students for rendezvous in years past. She could hear the incoming lecture in his tone. “You are aware I cannot do anything if you will not let me leave the monastery grounds.”

He was referring to her most recent order, and his own work into the inner machinations of those her uncle would call ally.

“Not even Saint Cethleann herself would have been able to return you to proper health in so little time,” she hissed, one hand shooting out to press into the site of his wound - the same place she had last seen him bleeding out from in the waste of Fhirdiad. She would not soon forget.

His breath hitched, the muscles in his jaw flexing as he exhaled slowly. Point made she eased the pressure, but her hand remained there, would not return to her. Instead it nocked itself into his side, palm against the dip of his waist, the warmth of his skin under her fingers proof that he was alive.

“I cannot - afford - your death, Hubert,” she said thickly. Something compelled her to add, automatically, “My uncle - we cannot let down our guard.”

Hubert hummed low in his throat as he drew closer to her. “It would be my honour as the last of House Vestra to die in your service.”

Involuntarily her grip tightened. Edelgard looked up, sought out his gaze. “Last?” She asked, then shook her head. “No, forget it. Your life is not forfeit for mine. Not you. Never you. You - you aren’t going anywhere until you’re fully healed.”

“Lady Edelgard,” Hubert said, impossibly gently, a note closely akin to yearning colouring his voice. He sounded almost pained. She doubted it was the injury. “You cannot possibly not know.”

She tried to look through him, like she had done so many times before. She _didn’t_ know, and it set a frustration simmering between her lungs. “Know what, Hubert?”

His gaze flickered down. Suddenly Edelgard became aware that she was still holding him, and let go suddenly, taking a step back with a mumbled apology.

“Arundel will expect us to be giddy and foolish on our victory, compliant with their demands from here on out. Let me know when Mercedes clears you. I - I will manage him until then.” The words rushed out of her, tumbling over one another. This said, she nodded once, as if to assure them both, then turned on her heel and fled.

☽✧··✦··✧☾

She was grateful to have Byleth with her as they rounded the last turn of so many hours’ marching underground, clearing their way into the massive subterranean city where the Agarthans lurked. The ex-mercenary was a steadying presence, even as she fought to hold down her fear of being so far away from the sun.

 _So this_ , Edelgard thought as her skin crawled, _was Shambhala_. They had brought some of their strongest mages, but Hubert had taken Lysithea, on the girl’s request, to handle the rest of Arundel - _Thales's_ staff resident in the capital concurrently. Edelgard trusted them absolutely.

Behind them Felix whipped his blade about, restless. “This place _reeks_ ,” he snarled. She allowed herself a humourless grin. Oh, if only he knew.

The Death Knight turned his gaze upon their troops. “DO NOT LET THEM CUT YOU. THEIR BLADES LEAVE WOUNDS THAT DO NOT HEAL NORMALLY.” He paused, considering. “BEWARE ANY RUNES ON THE GROUND.” As ever, he spoke as if in warning to those who would dare walk beside him. It almost made Edelgard smile.

It seemed the restlessness affected them all; as they stood, Byleth’s hand twisted on the hilt of the Sword of Seiros, her features revealing a rare impatience. “I will cut them down where they stand.”

The jagged edge of the sword seemed to hum with her intent; Edelgard wondered how much of the weapon was Seiros’s true nature. “Come. Let us go.”

The Death Knight spearheaded the charge. In his wake their troops carved through the Agarthan forces like knives through butter; battalions led by Imperial mages crept along the walls, dismantling the ritual circles of their enemy and depriving their melee forces of backup.

But soon they had lost the element of surprise, and curious magical devices began to rain lightning on their troops. Mindful of the strange weapons their army shifted into defence; Edelgard ripped Byleth out of the way as a bolt crashed where she had been standing only moments earlier, and did not spare a look as she struck another mage down before he could cast. “Take out the hazards!”

As a battalion scrambled to obey, Byleth and herself, leading a smaller strike force through the West, arced in a line for the chamber where Thales waited. As they drew close massive animated dolls wailed before them, like those they had seen at Arianrhod. One careened towards them, crying monstrously, its face fixed in a morbid rictus of sorrow.

But they had expected this much. Overhead a Wyvern-riding regiment sailed into it, dodging deftly between its arms as it jerkily tossed lances of light. On the ground Sylvain and Felix appeared before them, the former tossing Edelgard a cavalier smile.

“Go on, boss lady,” Sylvain drawled, readying his Relic as he eyed up the titan. “We can take it from here.”

Despite everything the Kingdom men seemed to take their cue from Byleth, a thing for which she was eternally grateful. She nodded, and as the chaos raged around them they headed for the central chamber, the static in her head crescendoing to a scream as they approached.

Inside there was a flurry of magic. Edelgard dodged spells she could feel long before they became visible - a skill honed through years of sparring with Hubert and avoided assassination attempts both - and wasted no time with her axe. As she whipped around a spell grazed her side; she shook it off, snarling, and saw to it that the mage would never cast again.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw that Byleth, too, had broken free of the melee, and together they drew towards the warlock on the dais, circling him carefully as they took in where he stood.

“Such hubris, child,” he spat, hands curling in the air. “Not even you touch me. I am no mere god.” His gaze shifted to Byleth, and his smile grew wider. “Nor any longer is she.”

“It is your mistake to believe that faith carried us here,” she said simply, and then she was charging in, swinging Aymr with a force that cut through the barrier Thales threw up between them. Agarthan-made, it had been engineered specifically to cut through anything, including the inky darkness of their magic. She had made sure of that.

He put distance between them as he threw up barriers against each strike Byleth aimed at him with the Sword of Seiros. With a weapon so lightweight after she had wielded the Sword of the Creator for so long, Byleth was impossibly fast, keeping him from casting anything stronger.

But her blows would never cut through his shields; the task would fall to Edelgard. She bided her time, feinting strikes to prevent him from retreating, and watched. When a stray spell flew towards them and he teleported to a spot not far from where he stood, Edelgard was there before he had fully phased back into place.

She had the satisfaction of watching disgust creep onto his features as he realised a human had bested him. It was the face that remained on his head as she cleaved it cleanly off his body, carved a bloodless arc straight into his chest for good measure after.

He hung there, as if time had slowed, for a heavy moment. Before his body met the ground it dissipated into the air like ash to the wind; Edelgard buried her face in her shoulder and staggered backwards, wanting no part of whatever he was within her.

It was as if a fog had lifted off them all. The shrill ringing that had taken up residence in her head stopped, and around them the Agarthan soldiers faltered, falling to final blows by the rapidly tiring Imperial troops.

Exhausted, Edelgard von Hresvelg sank to the ground, her axe clattering to the luminous tile, as a cheer rose around them in those eerie glowing halls.

☽✧··✦··✧☾

The paperwork involved in overhauling a country’s systems of governance was immense. As much work as Ferdinand did in his father’s place, he was only another twenty-something, as was she, as was Hubert, and as was nearly everyone else in their de facto government.

There were only so many things she could think of in a day. And no amount of axe swinging would give her the answers for the quickest, most transparent way to establish a centralised system of rights adjudication. As she snapped another history shut she let her head fall to the desk, thudding it lightly a few times.

 _“We could simply let ME decide!”_ crowed the Ferdinand who lived in her head. “ _It is I, arbiter of all that is fine and just! With my lance I deal justice, and with my gavel I deal - also justice - ”_

The ensuing thunk of her head was a little louder than was likely safe. _No_ , she thought grimly. _That simply would not do._

And there were - other - matters to attend to, too. Edelgard stared unreading at a copy of the Alliance’s Roundtable rules for a moment longer before she stood up and hastened to her door. Peering into the hallway, she flagged down a soldier and asked if he could get Hubert for her.

“Y- you mean to say, Minister Vestra, your Majesty?”

Ah, yes. She would have to consider everyone’s titles as well. Perhaps Minister sounded alright. But the royal titles would have to go - at least she was the only one left with one. “Yes, him,” she answered distractedly. “And, uh, it’s just Edelgard.”

He goggled at her, fear apparent through the grill of his helmet. Edelgard sighed internally. Right; she hadn’t officially dissolved the royal court, because she had nothing yet to replace it _with_.

“Never mind. Please get him for me. Thanks.”

Retreating back into her study - which was, in fact, Seteth’s old office - she thumbed restlessly through the pages of a now familiar book of tales. She had had time to talk to Dorothea, and to think, and those pursuits had been productive in that order, because the songstress - clinging to Petra and braiding her hair as she giggled at Edelgard’s plight - had called her a number of things, among them _obtuse_.

She finally had a name for the emotion that seized her when she watched her friends - and that was who they were, to her, wasn’t that a foreign thought - curl into each other, sharing touches, tender looks. It was longing, as foolhardy and brazen as it came. The weight of it still felt bizarre between her lungs.

She had never thought she would survive to want anything more than a reforged world.

Like so many times before, there was a knock at her door. Edelgard stilled instantly, and rose to greet him, the book still clutched within her hands. As an afterthought, she set it down carefully before proceeding.

“Lady Edelgard. You wished to speak with me?”

She had not had the time, of late, to really look at him. At her insistence he had been sleeping more, because reform would not, she lectured, happen overnight. The ghosts that must have plagued him from wading in so much blood seemed to have withdrawn; today, as always, Bernadetta’s gift sat neatly on his lapel, a stunning pop of colour in the monotone of his assemble.

“You look well,” she said softly, unable to keep the fondness out of her voice.

He seemed to have nothing to say to that, eyes widening marginally at the comment. Edelgard noticed how they did not leave her, not even when she reached out to straighten the pin, touch lingering a second too long before her hand returned to her side.

“I wanted to tell you,” she began, already knowing how he would take the news, “That you are released from servitude to House Hresvelg.”

“My lady - ”

She shushed him unceremoniously. “Listen to me a little, won’t you,” she scolded, although she was not terribly cross. “The world we are building will have no division of class. No royalty. I will not have power, after this, and your House would have nothing to gain from remaining tied to mine either. As it should be. I am only sorry that it took this long.”

“Lady _Edelgard_ ,” Hubert pressed. “I serve you purely out of personal devotion. Surely you cannot think that House status has any hand in why I continue - ”

She pressed a hand to his lips, partially to assure herself of what Dorothea had insisted must be true. A faint dusting of colour bled into his pale complexion. “You have to be honest, Hubert,” she told him. “What is it you want? Is it - to walk with me?”

He closed his eyes, and trembling fingers wrapped around her wrist. For the first time in countless years there were no gloves preventing the touch of skin. His eyes swept low as he admitted, “More than anything.”

“Then walk by my side.” She felt foolish, laying herself bare, but he hadn’t yet let go of her hand and it made her brave. “I don’t want you in my shadow anymore. This new world we’re creating - I _want_ , Hubert - I want to live it with you.”

Again he said nothing, stunned into absolute silence. She slipped her wrist free so she could lean up and very tentatively press her palm to his cheek, trying to figure him out. “Is that okay?”

He squeezed his eyes shut, his hand coming up to hold hers, and she watched as a man who so rarely showed his emotions shook before her.

“Are you - oh, Hubert.” She reached her other arm up and hooked it around his neck, leaning so he had to catch her around the waist in an embrace. It was most undignified. She found she didn’t care. “You darling, stupid man.”

He remained silent, still, but his arms tightened around her, and she could feel his heart hammering in his chest, loud and alive and real.

“You never _do_ anything for yourself,” she mumbled into his shirt. “You would have never told me on your own.”

“You flatter me,” he murmured into the crown of her head, pressing a kiss into her hair. She smoothed her hands down to curl them over his heartbeat, instead, listening for what it would tell her. “To do anything for you is already in my self interest.”

She did sigh at this, extremely loudly, and then, because she felt like it, and because, she realised, she could - she bounced her fist against his chest lightly, by way of chastisement.

“ _No,_ ” Edelgard said, like one might say to a misbehaving dog, or Ferdinand’s eighth duel challenge in the course of one meal. “We can work on this - thing of yours.” She paused. “And we will.”

She leaned her head back against him, indulgently, and allowed her eyes to close. There was a country left to rebuild. “When we have earned ourselves the time.”

☽✧··✦··✧☾

It was an especially lovely day, she observed with no small amount of delight, the sky clear and blue, with canaries chirping blissfully outside of the window. She bent to check the oven - yes, the roast would be just about done - and rolled onto the balls of her feet to try to get a set of serving plates from the drawer overhead.

“El.” A hand on her waist, a quick peck on the top of her head. She leaned back as Hubert reached over her head and retrieved the dishes. When she held out her hand for them he shook his head, setting them down on the counter instead.

“Go and welcome them,” he told her, gently steering her out of the way. “I’ll finish up here. Don’t worry.”

She kissed him on the cheek for his trouble, then swept out to the lane leading up to their small manse in the hillside. Sure enough, there were two silhouettes when she looked to the east, and soon they resolved themselves into two pegasi, sweeping into a landing and trotting to a stop not far from the front door.

“EDIEEEEE!” A whir of brown hair launched itself at her, and it was all she could do to catch Dorothea in a hug, spinning her around to her squeals of glee before she set her down. Petra joined them both shortly, and she wrapped them both in an embrace hello.

“Come in,” she said, taking them both by the hand. “There is so much I’d like to hear.”

Once inside, Dorothea detached from her to surprise Hubert with a hug, as well, going as far as to press a kiss to the side of his dreadfully reddening face. “My favourite brooding little man in all of Fodlan,” she cooed. “How have things been, Hubie?”

He allowed her to continue holding on to him, even though the embarrassment was clearly swallowing him whole. “It is not a habit of mine to _brood_ ,” he protested, weakly.

“He’s less stormy recently. More of an angry grey cloud,” Edelgard translated, herding her guests into chairs. “And speaking of storms - how was the weather on your trip here?”

The table was warm, the conversation lively. They shared letters from the rest of their friends - Dorothea was especially eager to get a hold of Byleth’s sloping hand, postmarked from Almyra - and afterwards, when they had retired to have tea, they were presented, with no small amount of excitement from their guests, with an item said to be able to play music at any time.

“It works… like… this,” Petra announced, as she finished clicking things into place, and when she stepped away from the contraption, a lively piano piece filled the room, apt for a day as bright as this.

“Incredible,” Edelgard marveled, thanking them for the gift. “This was invented in Brigid, you say?”

Petra nodded, then looked beyond Edelgard, her face brightening almost coyly at what she saw.

As Edelgard turned to look there was a touch on her shoulder, and when she turned Hubert had dipped into a bow, one hand out in invitation. “Forgive my indiscretion,” he said, in a perfect mimicry of his younger self. “My lady, may I have this dance?”

She placed hers in his, and allowed him to tug her to her feet. “I thought you would never ask,” she replied, grandly, feeling breathless as she played along.

“I never did quite get to,” he murmured into the space between them, and she remembered the White Heron Cup. He had said, then, that he would dance if she asked him to.

But she had been swamped with requests the entire night. Remembered opening the floor back to back with Dimitri, and later dancing with noble son after noble son, all sent to inquire for the Princess’s hand in marriage. For a moment she imagined that she was dancing with their ghosts.

Then Petra shouted something risqué and very Dorothea-like at Hubert, like asking him to dip her, a request which - to her great chagrin - he indulged, and she bore patiently, if only for the gasps of delight of their audience.

When they recovered she pushed back, forcing him to lead her into an altogether impulsive spin, and as she twisted back into his arms he was smiling, broadly, and the sight made her heart slam painfully inside her chest.

Their house was humble, but it was their own. They had people who cherished them and whom they cherished in return. Hubert was with her, as he had always been, and would always be - in this moment, in this time, she was finally at peace.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!! with some trepidation i have created [ a twitter account](http://twitter.com/monsoonflame). if you would like to please say hello to me there... there is absolutely no guarantee that it will not just be me tweeting "I JUST THIN KTHAT HE LOVES HER VERY MUCH" every five seconds, but if you are of a mind to share that sentiment with me, then... I look forward to your acquaintance :D 


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